Jacky S - Suburban Souls, Book II

To begin, I wrote the letter that Lilian wanted to be at her house when she arrived home, and I kept a rough copy of it, which I am thus able to give here, and now all my love being well-nigh gone, and naught but a slight, forlorn hope of future lust remaining, I began to make notes and collect material for the volumes which are now in the hands of my patient reader.

JACKY TO LILIAN

Paris. Thursday, March 16, 1899.

I love you, my Lilian, and shall always love you whatever happens. I loved you first. I love you faithful or unfaithful, good or bad. Present or absent, I shall love you the same. You are my only love; the last love of my life.

Is not this the best answer I can give to your letter from Lille-the cry of a troubled soul?

You can understand that I have great difficulty in composing this letter. I have so much to say to you; so many things which cannot be written, I think.

I have been truly full of anguish. I have worried my brain and passed through every kind of moral torture. I reproached myself many things, and felt remorse for certain advice I gave you. I accused myself of not having loved you as I ought to have done.

What greatly pained me was a sentence where you spoke of not being worthy of my love. But, little darling Lilian, if one of us is unworthy, it is certainly not you.

You spoke of lamentations? I could complain all day, and I shall only be happy when I shall have seen you and consoled you. I will not let you suffer, darling.

The love I feel for you is quite devoid of all jealousy or mean afterthought. You have only to tell me, as you do now, that you love me and I shall be the happiest man in the world. I believe in you, because I feel that you adore me truly, and that you are always trying to find out how to give me pleasure. You are always thinking of me.

Certainly, I adore your caresses, your hands, your mouth, and all your body-your childlike breast, your little black-and-pink thing, the other callipygean side, and your thighs, and all I have pressed, pinched, struck, felt, licked, sucked, and moistened with my seed. But if you were to offer me all that, giving me to understand that you love me no more, that you give yourself to me solely for my pleasure-I would refuse everything.

I appreciate with tender joy your true and entire love, with your heart coming at last to me with all your confidence. How good you are now! And I am worried, as I think that you have perhaps sacrificed yourself for your Jacky and I am responsible for the pain I cannot help seeing in your letter.

I must remind you that you promise me for the future absolute frankness; you pledge yourself to open your heart to me. You tell me that I alone understand you.

Then the mania I have for turning over every word you say in your letters, and for scrutinizing and analyzing all that comes from you does not displease you? Do I see clearly when I observe you, my angel?

There are moments when I curse my clairvoyance and I envy the grocer who is neither perverted nor vicious. But I have one consoling thought-if Jacky was not so cochon, you would not love him.

For the advice you ask I am forced to tell you at once, until I can better make you understand my thoughts by word of mouth, that we should have no pride or haughtiness with our mother. You must absolutely go to her as if you were a little girl. Do you not know that we are always little children for our mothers? And a mother is never astonished to see her children come back to her at any age, as they used to do when they were ten years old.

Already a year ago you asked me the same thing, and my counsel was identical. The beginning of the reconciliation will be hard for you perhaps, but you must persevere and make yourself caressing, tender, and full of prayer to her. I cannot develop my idea more fully here.

This letter may seem to you stupid and incoherent. You must excuse the writer. I grope in the dark.

Since the eighth, I am as a madman. Only Smike understands me. The other day he did as follows for the first time in his life. We were alone. I felt all “topsy-turvy”-your word when you put on your air of innocence. Softly, he came to me and licked my face, my eyes. Then he left me, and went and lay down sadly.

Last Friday, at three o'clock in the morning, you were with me. I felt myself seized in a close embrace and a hand seemed to touch my face. In the trouble of the dream I said to myself “Ah! 'tis Lilian-that is why Smike does not bark.” I called you and woke bathed in sweat, crying out your name.

If I let you catch sight of a little corner of my heart, so sensitive when you are concerned, you must not think that I have become a poet since your departure. No, in spite of myself, I am always thinking of some delicious follies to execute with you, my adored little woman, and I have added a few holes to your leather girdle. You will give yourself freely up to this game of teasing pain and imitation of torture, will you not? I love it so much, because I know you give way for love of me.

I mean to inflict supreme shame upon you. I will have you in front of me in your drawers, and you shall come to me, opening them yourself as I shall order you, and pushing away the chemise to show me your “pussy.” I shall leave you thus for some minutes, happy at the slight humiliation you will undergo in exposing your nakedness yourself. Next you will open your little slit yourself, with your two hands, so as to show me the inside quite fully. And I shall be quite naked, having undressed myself at once before you, so that you may judge yourself of the effect you produce upon me. It will be an extraordinary lewd delight for me to be naked as I was born, and keep you a little while with me, you being completely dressed.

I have developed the photographs I took of you and your brother, etc. There are only six good ones out of the twelve negatives. Bad work that. But at last I have a photograph of you, taken by me, for me. I have half a mind not to show it to anyone, not even to you. It is indeed my Lilian, who twisted and turned with such docility before me. I have the effrontery to adore you when you obey all my caprices at once.

One day in my life, I should like to have you quite humble and tender, saying: “Yes, Jacky-if you wish it, Jacky, certainly, Jacky, as long as it pleases you,” etc. I should like to box your ears, and you say to me: “Thank you, Jacky.” That is impossible, it is not in your nature.

I hope that the end of your journey was better than the commencement, and that your health has been good.

What would I not give for an hour or two of quiet chat with you! I will not read over these pages; if I do, I shall not have the courage to post them. But this will not prevent me when I see you from treating you like the lowest woman in the world, and covering you with insults, as I call you by the filthiest and most infamous names, once you have told me that to be insulted by Jacky makes you spend.

To both your wet mouths!

JACKY

LILIAN TO JACKY.

Sonis-sur-Marne. March 18, 1899. My Birthday.

My own Jacky,

At last here I am back again, and I find your good, long letter. Have no fear about our correspondence, as never any of my letters are opened, you can therefore rest easy on that point. I was awfully bored during the whole week we remained in Brussels; in a word, this trip has been more of a task than a pleasure. I have many things to tell you, but I cannot describe them, as it is impossible to develop my thoughts on paper. So I shall do my best to have you invited.

I love you.

LILIAN.

P.S. Mind and amuse yourself well tomorrow, Sunday. I know that it is a day that you would not sacrifice and give up to me for anything in the world. This is a pity, as I shall be free tomorrow.

In my letter, to which this was an answer, I had put a post-script expressing fears lest my letters to her might fall into the hands of her parents, which was part of my scheme to prevent her thinking that I suspected her collusion with her Papa and Mamma.